The Scorched Soul Erotica...

Upon checking out from my hotel in Aligarh , Uttar Pradesh one morning, they informed me that the telephone line was down, and hence I could not use my credit card. They would have to send a waiter along with me to collect the payment from the ATM. Now this waiter was a Muslim, and judging by my beard that I was Muslim too, he asked me my name. And that was how the conversation started. He told me that he worked the night shift at the hotel, and during the day he studied for High School exams. I was touched by the thought that a person who craved education was forced to work nights as a waiter at a hotel, and I felt a tinge of sadness for the poor state of our country. Education is a prized possession, but the priorities in our country are such that often what is worthy commands a lowly price. I felt pity for the poor soul sitting beside me. And I felt sad for the misguided system of ours that lets deserving people be disappointed. I expressed my sympathy and told him th

...well, not really. But comes pretty close though! From the music class back in school. Why do children's songs have to be so gruesome and ugly? Why did Quacky have to die!!! Anyways, download the shit here . ___________________________________________________________ Quacky the Duck Lyrics and music by Chris Jung. Sung by Godfrey Thomson. Verse 1 Quacky was a duck, and a little duck was he, with fuzzy yellow feathers, As cute as he could be. He lived on a pond down the road not far away, And when I’d go to see him, this is what he’d say: Chorus 1 Quack, quack, (quack, quack). It seemed he always knew the way that I was feeling, His love was always true. Quack, quack, (quack, quack). And when I was feeling sad, He always made me glad with a quack, (quack, quack). Verse 2 He was like my best friend, and after school or play, Quacky would be waiting To see me every day. I’d sit down beside him, and I’d give him a snack. I’d tell him all my secret

Dad had a friend by the name of Mr.M.Ali. The only memories I have of him were about the time I was in High School. He was an intriguing man, and somehow inspiring too, although there was nothing I got inspired for under his influence. He was careful not to do that... He was old and of an ailing age. One day, I met him at his tailor’s shop and asked about his health. He replied that he was fine, but that sometimes he felt weak. And since I had found him in his shop today, he said, I should know that he was fine. For, he carried on, if he felt weak, he would not come out in public. The people oppress the weak, he said. He used to say that ever since he was small, he had always wanted  not to find an employment, but  to become an employer. And Allah had blessed him with his wishes.  He lived in Haldwani, at the foothills of Nainital. Now in Haldwani, communal living can be seen in one of the clearest ways. There is a separate area where the Sardars live, and another one for t

I hate cheerful people. They are so out of touch with reality… Go to the zoo and see the animals there. See anyone laughing? No, cause they’re locked up cages you’ll say… Then go out to the forest and see the birds and animals; check out the street dogs even. Ever seen them laughing? No. Obviously, cause it isn’t natural to be happy! Happiness is a senseless emotion that somehow got infused into our bloodstream. By the devil, I tell you! I hate cheerful people. Trying to spread a warm message that life is good and shit like that. Why bother going to such depths to make people happy when they have no intrinsic emotion to be it! Why feed them lies! There’s this friend of mine. Has started this new business where he sends people happy and positive messages. Makes them get up with a smile. See the positive side of life. He’s into the happiness business. What a liar! One time, I remember, he almost died from jaundice. Then said “screw you” to death and came back. Fought